The Little Things
by Psychoswordlady
Summary: A series of twenty little drabbles about little things that make relationships unique. Yaoi, yuri and het. All of it's tame, don't worry. Will span the first nine FEs and you may suggest pairs to use. Chapter Nine: DorothyClarine, Shoulders. About time...
1. SethCormag: Hands

LITTLE THINGS 

a series of drabbles by Psychoswordlady

Fandom: Fire Emblem. Any game in the series can be used. (Since I know enough Fire Emblem to get an offer to help at EFED, you can be sure I'll know which characters you mean)  
Pairings: There will be 20 total. Yaoi, yuri and het- nothing gets left out. As long as it's canon and not too incesty ;D (i.e., no OscarBoyd because they're brothers, but CeliceLeaf will be allowed because they're just cousins)  
POV: All will be third person because I get too used to first person.  
Rating: Will range from G to PG13, nothing hard.

NOTES: I got this idea last night about a series of drabbles on little stuff people would find attractive. Basically you take one theme and make a ficlet about it. This will contain yaoi, yuri and het, and you can suggest pairs or themes for it. (I can't guarantee I'll use your request, but I'll try my best. I'm a little picky with my pairs.)

With that, let's start this off with a nice yaoi. Nothing graphic, again, these are just light little drabbles.

Snap.

The Silver Knight of Renais pressed shut the final fastening on the saddlebag. He was a bit groggy, as it was six o'clock and he had been up most of the night before, and the gray fog diminishing his visibility didn't help. Fortunately, the day was free of plans, and he intended to practice his swordsmanship with the knights he commanded. Forde's technique had become slightly more lax with experience, and he thought it imperative to prod the lazy blond back into the proper form lest he set a bad example for his younger brother Franz. Franz was his prime student. After all, the boy was the son of the man who inspired Renais's greatest general to become a knight in the first place.

His sword slid out of its sheath with a metallic rasp, and he gave it a few practice swings at nothing in particular. While he whirled about like a dervish in the height of prayer, a flash of blue steel flew by his eyes, and he stumbled to a stop, cursing his dizziness. Balance reclaimed him and he stepped toward the source of the vision.

"Hey, Seth." Cormag was polishing his cerulean armor while sitting on a stump.

"Hello, Cormag," Seth said with a welcoming smile. "What brings you?"

"I was just wondering if I could have my good spear back. The silver one I lent you."

"Oh," the redhead replied. "Yes, I still have it, and like I promised it's in good condition." The spear that moments ago lay against an oak tree was now held firmly in the knight's gloved hand.

Cormag simply gave a "Thank you" as he took back his weapon. For a split second, his hand brushed against Seth's in the midst of the exchange.

The Silver Knight stopped. Cormag had such attractive hands. Muscular, but not too much so. The bones on the back of them rose up from the flesh like stone walls. His fingers were thick and solid and ended in gently curved squarish nails. The tips of his fingers and the palms of his hands were rough and callused from years of fieldwork and fighting. In that rough sort of way, they were beautiful.

The wyvern knight turned to leave, but met only with a crimson-haired obstacle. "Cormag, hold a moment."

Black leather gloves met tan callused palms and elevated them to the Silver Knight's lips. A quick kiss, and the Grado knight's hand was then released with a silent farewell.

Cormag stared at Seth, befuddled. "Did you just kiss me?"

Crimson eyes stared back softly. "Yes, I did."

The blond knight's cheeks rose with his warm smile at the interlacing of their fingers. "Seth, why don't we take a little walk?"

"Sounds good to me, Cormag."


	2. L'arachelEirika: Hair

LITTLE THINGS 

Chapter Two: Hair   
Pairing: L'arachelEirika  
NOTE: Little. I mean, like, really little. Like three hundred something words little. Don't kill me. This is also the first yuri I'm posting, so be nice.

Eirika sat on the bed, reading one of the books Lyon had lent her. She far preferred quiet, learned activities over the noise and violence of the battlefield. The young princess only fought out of necessity. A strange clunk at her door distracted her, and soon Princess L'arachel ran in, worry written all over her face.

Panting, the lady of Rausten choked out, "Eirika- Eirika-"

"What's wrong, L'arachel? Whatever is the matter?"

"My hair- it's ruined! I asked Dozla to do it, and you know how that lunk has no coordination!"

"I think it looks fine," Eirika said in a soothing voice.

"No, no, it's horrible! Unbefitting a woman of nobility! Please, dear Eirika, fix it for me! I can't go out like this!"

"All right," the princess of Renais reassured, "all right. Come here."

She put her book down and uncrossed her legs, allowing the other princess's shoulders to rest against her knees. Deftly, she unwrapped L'arachel's hair tie from her updo and let the chartreuse curls cascade across her thighs. She buried her fingers in the silky locks and her long, smooth fingernails scratched gently at the lady's scalp. Her fingers ran marathons through it, teasing apart the tangles her brutish servant had unintentionally created. After a long session of brushing, she swept her friend's hair up into a twist and re-tied it with the thin navy ribbon.

"There," Eirika said. She turned L'arachel's shoulders to face the mirror on the far wall. "It's done."

"My, Eirika! It looks wonderful. You've outdone yourself!" L'arachel gave her a quick peck on the cheek and rushed out to pester Dozla and Rennac some more.

"You're welcome," the blue-haired princess replied, a bit too late. She picked up her book and continued reading.


	3. LilinaGonzales: Flowers

LITTLE THINGS 

Chapter Three: Flowers   
Pair: LilinaXGonzales  
NOTE: It occurs to me this is the first het I have posted in my two-year history on this site. Hope you like it--this is my Fire Emblem 6 OTP.

"Leena!"

The huge, brutish man stomped toward the young girl, a medium-sized shrub in his huge hand. "I bring flower."

"Oh, Gonzales!" Lilina ran up to the former bandit and buried her face in his arms, letting the fragrance of the pink rosebush tickle her nose. "That was very sweet of you! Thank you. But..."

"Uhh?" Gonzales grunted.

"When you bring someone flowers, you don't pick up the whole bush..."

"I sorry," he said. His lower lip fell in dismay and showed his sparse, crooked teeth.

Lilina's expression turned apologetic. "Don't be sad, Gonzales. I appreciate it. Thank you."

"Rrgh...? Leena. What thank you?" Gonzales had rarely heard the word, and his slow mind did not yet understand it.

The blue-eyed girl searched for an answer. It was hard to define a word that was so common and universally understood, it didn't need a definition. "Thank you. It's, ahh, what you say when someone does something for you and you're happy."

"Leena," he growled in his rough voice. He still had trouble pronouncing the young Ostian lady's name.

"Hm?"

"Thank... you?" He tested out his new phrase.

"Why do you say that? I haven't done anything for you yet."

"Thank you, Leena..."

"Gonzales, what do you mean?"

"I ugly. I slow. I not know many words. But you not care." He smiled, a smile only Lilina could return. "Thank you, Leena," he repeated.

"Gonzales," she said. She felt her throat tighten. "Oh, Gonzales..."

The small girl found herself enveloped in the huge bandit's arms. "Leena... Flower pretty. Like you."


	4. KleinElphin: Eyelashes

LITTLE THINGS 

Chapter 4: Eyelashes   
Pair: Klein/Elphin

Mildain was a beautiful prince.

At least Klein thought so. So there he was, sitting there on the grassy hillside they often visited to talk, waiting. Waiting for that sunshine-blond hair and hoping to hear that soft, light voice once more.

The prince was under the guise of a simple bard, Elphin, but it failed to hide his almost feminine beauty. No amount of plain shawls and thick canvas robes could cover up his radiance.

Just his eyelashes were enough to set his heart aflutter. Long and dark and curved at just the right slope, they almost made him stop missing the prince's eyes, which had remained shut for the past few months due to the poison. Sometimes a small glimmer of blue would flicker beneath them, just enough to tantalize the young general and send him into a flurry of daydreams. Even if the prince's expression turned gloomy, his eyelashes remained lush and almost cheerful, in a way. And when he would bat them playfully, like the time he said "I thought you were so cute as a child"... ah! The thought alone made the blond sniper's face flare red.

"Lord Klein?"

"Ah! Pr--I mean, Elphin. Good to see you," Klein said with a smile.

"Good to see you as well, Lord Klein." Elphin took out his harp and coaxed out a few elegant notes with his graceful fingers. "You seem to be in good spirits. May I ask the story behind that hearty blush?"

"I was, er, a bit feverish. Nothing to concern yourself with, Elphin."

"Feverish? Then, let me take your temperature, milord." The bard leaned closer and placed a hand on Klein's forehead, but was stopped abruptly.

"No, no, I'm fine now. No reason to worry." He pushed Elphin's hand away by the wrist and leaned back.

"Lord Klein, is something bothering you?"

Klein paused. "Actually, yes. I don't like it when you call me Lord Klein."

"Why? It would seem awkward for a mere bard to address one of the Three Generals by only his name."

"Yes, but..." The Archery General trailed off.

"Does this have something to do with status?" Elphin folded his hands in his lap.

"That's not all it is. I don't think we should have to use honorifics with each other." His voice lowered. "It just seems like we're being fake."

"Klein..." The prince-in-hiding took the younger boy's hand. "It's out of necessity. And besides, even if my identity is a ruse, our bond isn't."

Klein's violet eyes lit up. "Do you mean it?"

"I do," said the bard. His arms wrapped around Klein's waist. "And until the prince returns to the castle, we can be together as much as you'd like."

The young general smiled. "How about after?"

"That's certainly a possibility." With that, Elphin's soft lips fell onto Klein's, and those eyelashes Klein so loved fluttered against his cheek.


	5. JillLethe: Ears

LITTLE THINGS 

Chapter 5: Ears   
Pair: Jill/Lethe  
NOTE: I know this borders on furry. I don't care. They're cute together. I'm straight and I have no qualms admitting that.

"Beorc. You're late."

"I'm sorry, Lethe," Jill said simply, sitting on the chair.

The fire danced in the fireplace and bathed the cat laguz's golden-orange fur in its crimson light. Lethe's tail flicked idly like the tongues of flame behind her. "It's not a problem." She took a bite out of the piece of meat on her plate, using her fingers to lift it.

Jill stuck a fork into her vegetables. Sub-hu--laguz, rather(she had still not learned to call them by their proper names every time)--had no manners. Humans--rather, beorc, as they were called, ate civilly, using utensils and cooking their food first. The laguz, at least the cats and tigers, ate their meat raw and in large chunks. She couldn't help but think it, even though they ate together every night since a few weeks ago.

Lethe twitched her ears. "Stop staring, Jill."

Jill blinked a few more times than usual. "I wasn't staring."

"Yes, you were. I felt it."

"Then I apologize if it seemed like it," Jill said, picking up a carrot.

Lethe glared for a split second more, then lay down on the rug again.

The redheaded wyvern knight ate another corn kernel. She had the habit of eating each vegetable one by one. As she ate a single pea, her eyes locked onto the back of Lethe's head again.

Those... ears.

Like a cat's, but different. The same color as the pumpkins back home in Daein. And covered in a fine fur royal coatmakers only dreamed of. They twitched every so often, and sometimes rotated to a sound. So... feral. Alluring, in a strange way.

Disgusting.

How can you think things like that?! she screamed at herself. She's a sub-human, sub-human, a filthy beast with claws and fangs and fur and a tail and ears like those! She's not a person!

Not a person!

Person!

Lethe's eyes met hers. "Jill, I told you to stop staring."

"Sorry," she said. She took one last look at Lethe's face; so human, yet to her merely something less. Or maybe... something more. Looked at her ears and her tail, the things that qualified her as a sub-human... and the things that made her so attractive.

She ate another carrot, with a fork, like humans did.


	6. GerikJoshua: Games

LITTLE THINGS 

Chapter Six: Games   
Pair: JoshuaGerik   
NOTE: "Ones or eights" is a Japanese expression similar, in a way, to English's "eany meany miney moe". Except less dumb sounding. It refers to picking odds or evens in a dice game that they just happen to be playing, so it's like someone making a pun on "home runs" at a baseball game. Lame, I know, but I hope you like this.

"Ones or eights? What'll it be? Come on, take a chance."

Gerik rested his chin on his hand in concentration. "Hmm..." he mumbled, keeping a close eye on the movements of his opponent's hands and the dice cup between them. "I say... evens."

Joshua slammed the cup down on the dirt floor. He then withdrew it, leaving the two dice in its place. They lay with a pair of twos facing up coyly from the dust. "Nice guess, lucky." He pushed a small pile of gold coins towards the mercenary.

"Let's do something else. I quit gambling for a reason," said Gerik, scooping up his winnings.

"Aw, come on, Gerik. You've been on such a winning streak lately." The swordsman lay back atop his folded-up coat. "I've got to win back what I've lost."

"Nah, I don't feel like it. Let's just tell some stories."

Joshua stared at him irritably. "No, that's boring. Let's gamble some more." He thought for a moment, and his smile returned. "I know. Let's try something different. No money this time."

"Well, what would we play with, then?" asked Gerik. "Favors?"

"Yep," Joshua said with a grin. "If I win, you owe me something, and if you win, I'll do something for you. Anything you want."

The mercenary returned the mischevious smile. "All right. Just one game, though. Then I'm going to bed."

"So what'll it be? Cards? Coins? Dice? Rock-paper-scissors?"

"Ehh..." Gerik stretched with a yawn. "Keep it simple. Coins. I call tails."

"Then I get heads," said Joshua, and he picked up one of the coins from the pile. A flick of the thumb and it was high in the air, spinning like a dog chasing its tail. Finally, it plummeted back down onto the floor, sending up a small cloud of dust.

When the debris cleared, Gerik leaned over the coin and gave the verdict. "Tails," he said, hiding it in his fist.

The wandering swordsman drew back in shock. "You cheated."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes you did!" Joshua shouted. He leapt at him and pried his hand open. The coin lay with the heads side up. "Ha! See, I'm right!"

"No, you're not. It landed tails up."

"You're lying!"

"I don't lie, Joshua," said Gerik. "When have I ever lied to you?"

"Oh, yes you do! Plenty of times. When you led me on to believe you weren't a gambler, and the time you said you didn't know where my hat went, and... umm..." He ran out of incidents and reverted to petty yelling. "You tell me one thing that isn't a lie, right now!"

"Okay. I think you're kind of cute when you're determined," he said, laughing a little towards the end.

"Ha! I know that's a load of crap. You don't really expect me to believe--" Realization smacked him in the face. "...You do?"

Gerik only smiled. "I did tell one lie. It was heads. You win."

Joshua grinned. "I knew it, you rat. So... you owe me a favor now..."

"Let me guess." The mercenary's thick, strong arms wrapped around the other swordsman's waist, and he closed the distance between their lips. "Was that what you were going to ask me for?"

The former prince's smug look said it all. "Lucky guess, Gerik."


	7. ArturTethys: Toes

LITTLE THINGS 

Chapter 7: Toes  
Pair: ArturTethys  
NOTES: I don't really have a foot fetish, since my pinky toe looks kind of retarded and it's one of the few parts of me that I think is ugly. But, in a strange way, it seemed kind of right for Artur to have a foot fetish, what with all his subservient, bordering-on-maso behavior and disposition towards domme-ish chicks like Lute and Tethys. Go figure.

Also, this happens to be only the second het I've really written in my pseudo-"intelligent" era. (The last time was in the sixth grade, and I didn't know what the hell I was doing. You'd die if you saw it. I swear. It was MarySue-based-off-May-from-Pokemon paired with OOC British!Marth, with some FE3 character picked at complete random thrown in. If memory serves me it was Chainey, who wasn't all that cool anyway.)

Tethys spun her scarf about one last time, and asked the young monk watching her, "What do you think?"

"Wonderful, Miss Tethys," said Artur, "wonderful."

"Now let's see you try it," said the dancer. "Come on, up on your feet."

"D-Do I have to?!" stammered the monk as she grabbed his wrist and pulled him up.

"Step-two-three-four, step-two-three-four," she chanted. "Put your legs into it, Artur! Now twirl, and... there we go. You've got it."

Artur looked down, down at his plain white robes next to her graceful costume, and stopped moving. He wasn't the type to dance, at least not alongside such a woman as her. She was of a different world than he, and the world of chaste study collided with that of the floating superficiality of dance.

Feet met awkwardly with wooden stage, and the boy crashed facedown onto the ground. "Oww!"

"Artur! Oh, and you were doing so well, too." Tethys's hands were on her hips, and she stared down at Artur with disappointment.

"Um... I'm sorry. I'm just not in the mood for dancing today, Tethys." He dusted himself off and returned to his seat on the log.

"Hm. Well, if you're not going to dance with me, at least make yourself useful."

Artur looked up at Tethys. "I'm sure your feet must be tired."

"Excellent idea, Artur." She sat down on the grass in front of him and swung her feet onto his lap. "Get these old feet back into shape, then."

"Ah... all right..." he mumbled. He peeled off her silk dancer shoes and took a look at them. "Red seems to be your color, Tethys," he said with a chuckle, noting her choice of toenail polish. It matched her hair, her clothes, her scarf, her lipstick... it even made her autumn-leaf eyes look a more vibrant color.

"So I've been told. Could you pass me that towel over there?" she called, interrupting his thoughts. Upon its receipt, he wet it with his canteen and started cleaning between her toes.

"Dancers like you should take better care of their feet," said Artur. A miffed glance sent his way caused him to retrace his words. "I-I didn't mean to say they smelled bad, or were ugly or anything... I meant that you couldn't dance without them, so you should look after them."

"well, if you're suggesting such a thing, why don't you take on the task?"

Artur blushed. "You mean... be your personal foot-washer? I don't know about that..."

"Oh, come on. It's such a good idea. And you've certainly got a knack for it. If I can't make you be a dancer, then I'll just have to have you help me."

"Ahh... if you insist..." His protesting tone masked the fact that he knew, like the dancing he feigned clumsiness at, he would come to enjoy his new job.


	8. KarelLucius: Voice

LITTLE THINGS 

by Psychoswordlady

Chapter 8: Voice   
Pair: KarelLucius   
Note: Not trashing RavenLucius. RavenLucius made me a slash fan, dammit. It still is one of my favorite pairs, ever. But... upon reading the Japanese supports of both, realizing they removed a line from the KarelLucius A support in the English version, and seeing that RavenLucius was toned down too but not as noticeably, I decided to write KarelLucius. Also, sort of a request from IthilWilwarin, who wanted a Karel pair and being a Karel fan makes them awesome.

If you were wondering, the line they changed in KarelLucius A was from this: "Sukoshi… nemuritai. Shibaraku… soba ni… (I want to sleep… a little. If only for a while… by your side…)" to just "I want… to sleep. If only for a while…" BIG DIFFERENCE, SLASHFEN. BIG DIFFERENCE. (not sarcasm… well, mostly not sarcasm) and this information comes from Pegasusknight through your nice reliable good translator Psychoswordlady.

And also... jeez, this thing's a thousand words counting my notes. o.o; Too long to be a drabble by any measure...

---

Watou-chan was so pretty.

Karel polished it every day. Not like an ordinary swordsman would, no-- he polished his blade with the blood of the fallen, made it beautiful at the cost of those it cleft in two.

Watou-chan was shiny. Red and shiny. He even gave it a name, he took such good care of it. Even talked to it sometimes, like it was a person, the only thing that ever understood his ways. They were one-- one cold, unfeeling killer.

Only one other person spoke to him without fear.

And that person was a young monk named Lucius.

To be honest, the boy wasn't much younger than him; more accurately, not much younger than his estimate of his age, as he had stopped counting some time ago after the massacre on the plains--the massacre he himself had committed, the massacre only his sister and his empty shell had survived. Lucius could have been older than him and he'd never have known. Although, the boy certainly didn't look it. He had a very feminine appearance to him, but even so, didn't even look like a twenty-three-year-old woman; it was as if he had never gotten older than twelve or thirteen and had merely grown taller. Granted, Karel wasn't good at judging appearance, as he had no cares for looks, except when it came to Lucius.

Today was just like any other day, when right around sunset the gentle blond monk took a good two hours or so out of his schedule to sit down next to the swordsman and just talk to him. And Karel would pretend he wasn't paying attention, and just polish Watou-chan's sharp edge with the bloodsoaked rag he carried about in his jacket.

"Hello, Karel. I see you're busy as always," said the boy, taking a seat in the grass. Karel merely grunted.

"Karel, do you ever wonder how the pine trees stay so green all year?"

His usual response to Lucius's questions followed. "No."

"Sometimes I do. When I was three, and my mother was still alive... she told me it was because of the wood fairies." He laughed. "But I know that that's silly now. Still, sometimes I wonder..."

Silence passed. Karel still whiled away the time polishing his blade.

"Karel, may I do your hair?" asked Lucius. "Since I can never keep mine out of my face, and I'd like someone to practice on."

"Go ahead," he said.

Lucius drew the swordsman's hair up into a braid as he kept talking. "You know, you really should talk to people more, Karel. To be honest... I thought you were a little unfriendly, but I know you're listening to me." He took out a strip of cloth and tied the braid off. "At least, I think you are. Even if you weren't... I'd still enjoy talking to you. You at least act like a good listener."

Karel knew what the monk said was true. He loved the sound of Lucius's voice, drunk up every word he spoke with the rabid desire of an addict. His voice was perfect-- still that of a boy, yet backed by the power of an adult set of lungs, and still holding fast to the soft grace of youth. And when he sang--Karel had heard it once, and only once, but the memory of it would forever dance in his ears and mind--when he sang, it was like heaven descended upon earth solely to please the ears of the mortal. Not that Karel cared for heaven or hell, but he found no other simile for the sheer audile bliss that poured from that boy's throat.

The only thing was, Lucius had not sung for him.

Karel knew of only one of Lucius's friends, a red-haired young man by the name of Raven. It was for the noble and silent Raven that Lucius sang, not for the blood-caked, unkempt swordsman whose only consort was a bloodstained katana. Karel had seen the boy a few times in passing—never spoke to him, but he had seen him while following Lucius around camp, and seen that look he sent towards the young monk. That mix of lust and fondness he had seen several times before but never even thought to exist in his own eyes.

And he wanted to see that look in Lucius's eyes, finally see impurity in those perfect chaste orbs of blue. More specifically, he wanted Lucius to turn those eyes on him. Not Raven. Him.

And maybe... maybe Lucius wanted the same longing gaze from amber eyes rather than ruby. Just maybe.

"My, Karel, you seem to have your head in the clouds," Lucius said with a laugh. "What's on your mind?"

"...Sing for me, Lucius." His voice shook a bit in the split second it took to put his façade back up. On impulse, the swordsman awkwardly pulled the monk into his lap and held him steady, staring at him intently.

Lucius's smile found him again, and the look Karel so desperately wanted reflected back at him from those perfect blue eyes. "I'd... be honored to, Karel."


	9. DorothyClarine: Shoulders

LITTLE THINGS 

Chapter 9: Shoulders  
Pair: Dorothy/Clarine  
Note: ABOUT DAMN TIME, yeah, I know. So it's Dorothyslash, don't whine about it. Her official art's pretty bangin' even if she's weird looking ingame. This was a request from I forget who, but it's finished now so... wooooo.  
Chapter Nine was originally set to be Asvel/Leaf, but after several attempts I found out I couldn't write Asvel without him turning into a whiny little boywife and Leaf, conversely, turning into a massive pit of boring. Such is the disadvantage of writing in-character for those two :P  
---

Clarine often complained about Dorothy's unladylike behaviours, but that's not to say she didn't like them.

"What are you doing sitting like that?! Keep your legs together!" "Why are you wearing pants like you're one of the boys? Tch! You've no fashion sense! You look like a turkey." "Oh, why must you run out to the battlefield on foot and fire a bow like that ungraceful little friend of Lord Roy's? You'll get all sweaty. It's not becoming; perhaps you should learn a more aesthetic field purpose like magic from me." "Cover your shoulders, Dorothy! Your attire is indecent! You're not even wearing proper armor for a bowman, or in your case, 'huntress'."

Dorothy was plain; her short, boyish brown mop contrasting with the fine blond of Etrurian nobility, her plain, natural-colored attire (and pants! "Unthinkable things for a lady to wear") standing out against the pinks and purples of the young Lady Reglay, even her freckled skin differing from Clarine's smooth whiteness.

Yet, of course, when Clarine voiced her opinions on these matters, it was really her strange way of expressing approval. When Dorothy sat, Clarine would either sit beside her properly and feel muchly exulted, or sit on the floor (not without a proper blanket to sit on, however) between her knees, occasionally commanding her commoner friend to make pretty with her hair. Times like these made young Miss Reglay glad her friend wore pants, as did the added bonus of annoying suitors being repelled by the presence of her rough-looking companion. And secretly, she did find pride in Dorothy's skill with the bow (which almost rivaled that of her brother--almost) and ability to protect her, even though she was sure at some point she'd have as great a mastery over magic as did her father Lord-General of Magic Pent Reglay and could then very much fend for herself.

And she, in all honesty, didn't mind Dorothy's bare shoulders. The archer was muscular-- more muscular than she, a lady with servants to do her bidding, yet more gracefully built than her peer in archery Wolt. She looked and was strong enough to carry Clarine, if only for a fairly short distance, and she had indeed done so just the day before, one rainy day when Clarine's fine steed tripped upon a slippery rock and unhorsed her.

"M'lady, y'all right?"

Clarine had stared up at her indignantly. "Of course not! Look at this fine dress, it's been ruined by mud and has a tear in the hem!"

"No, m'lady, I meant you yourself aren't hurt, are you?"

"Well..." she hesitated, noting a minor ache in her feet and ankle, "I think I've twisted an ankle..."

"Really?" Dorothy asked, squatting. "Here, lemme see it, I know something of how to--"

"N-No, no!" Clarine stammered, uncharacteristically flustered. "Just help me, you fool!"

Dorothy frowned; her dark eyebrows cast displeased shadows on her beady eyes. With a sigh, she turned her back to Clarine and motioned for her to get on. "Hang on, then. I'll carry you somewhere safe. We'll have to send someone after your horse later, it doesn't seem to be in any condition to walk either."

Clarine wrapped her arms tightly around Dorothy's shoulders with feigned reluctance, felt her strain a bit as she stood slowly. Out of necessity, she ignored her own admonishments of propriety and wrapped her legs about Dorothy's waist to keep herself from slipping. They moved slowly but steadily; no words passed between the two over the relatively short journey, and Clarine nearly dozed off leaning on Dorothy's shoulder at one point.

"We're here," Dorothy stated, her words jolting Clarine out of her short nap. "Do you need me to help you into the tent, or can you handle it?"

The troubadour reluctantly steadied herself on her own feet. "I'm quite sure I'm capable of walking now." She stepped, unsure, towards the tent.

"A'right. Should I wait for you?"

"Just..." The young noblewoman found herself at a loss for a snappy retort for the first time. "No, just go on."

"If you say so, m'lady." And with that, the two parted ways, leaving Clarine to sit through Ellen's constant questioning of "Are you sure you don't have a fever?" and reflect in the sickbed while in perfect health.


End file.
